My right hand found the chain.
I drew it up without the slightest difficulty. And there was the
japanned tin case fastened to the end of it.
The action of the water had so rusted the chain, that it was impossible
for me to unfasten it from the hasp which attached it to the case.
Putting the case between my knees and exerting my utmost strength, I
contrived to draw off the cover. Some white substance filled the whole
interior when I looked in. I put in my hand, and found it to be linen.
In drawing out the linen, I also drew out a letter crumpled up with it.
After looking at the direction, and discovering that it bore my name, I
put the letter in my pocket, and completely removed the linen. It came
out in a thick roll, moulded, of course, to the shape of the case in
which it had been so long confined, and perfectly preserved from any
injury by the sea.
I carried the linen to the dry sand of the beach, and there unrolled and
smoothed it out. There was no mistaking it as an article of dress. It
was a nightgown.
The uppermost side, when I spread it out, presented to view innumerable
folds and creases, and nothing more. I tried the undermost side,
next--and instantly discovered the smear of the paint from the door of
Rachel's boudoir!
My eyes remained riveted on the stain, and my mind took me back at a
leap from present to past.
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